Trapped In A Web Of My Own Doing (Or how vacuum cleaners and wheelchairs do not mix), by Brian Segal

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Trapped In A Web Of My Own Doing

(Or how vacuum cleaners and wheelchairs do not mix)

by Brian Segal

Although I am in a wheelchair, I still like to try and help out with the day to day chores around the house. There are limitations of course. Shovelling snow off the roof of the house is no longer possible. Crane operators will not insure the hoisting of my chair up on the roof. (At least as long as my butt is being lifted with the chair)

Both my wife and I are pretty meticulous about keeping the house in order. No, we are not obsessive about it—just 2 middle aged people who like to keep things in order. Since I am home a lot, I have made a loose schedule of the chores I try and do. Some get done and some do not. The one thing I try to do on a regular basis is to vacuum where I am able. I push around a small upright vacuum cleaner that is fairly manoeuvrable. It does not do a perfect job (or perhaps I am the imperfection in the procedure), but it does satisfy my need for a kind of order that is not present in my own state of being. There I go again practising online psychoanalysis on myself. Not quite the same as self abuse but close enough to merit mention. Back to the story I began at the beginning.

The vacuum cleaner has a cord about 20 feet long. For those too young to have dealt in non-metric measurements: too bad. The task started off simply enough. Before I go on I should mention that I was alone in the house since my wife had already gone off to work. I plugged the cleaner in the usual hall outlet and went on my merry way. I did the hallway and pushed the vacuum into the office room across from my bedroom. Things seemed to be going well enough. Dust balls and fur balls (I have a husky mix that sheds about a toupee’s worth of hair a day, or so it seems to someone who has lost almost all of his own hair) were being sucked up faster than the bits of a dead star into a cosmic black hole. With my usual flair I performed that often-copied-but-rarely-successful wheelchair spin, with one hand on the vacuum handle and one hand pulling on the door handle to turn the chair. The judges usually give it 9.9 out of 10. Alas, this time fate through me a curve…or should I say a tangle.

I made it to the center of the hallway only to find I could go no further. I was somewhat confused until I looked down at the bottom of my chair to see that when I had spun around the cord had wrapped itself around the axle of one of the small tires of my “mobility device”-how’s that for being politically correct? I figured all I had to do was back up and the line would unravel. WRONG! The more I tried to manoeuvre the worse things got. I found myself trapped in the hallway with about 2/3 of the cord around my chair, like some inanimate anaconda constricting its prey. No one would be home for at least 2 hours. I was stranded, like some bizarre version of Robinson Crusoe. Would I be able to endure the wait? Worse yet, would my bladder hold out? I had to act and soon. Using the strength I still have in my upper body I pushed down on the armrests of the chair and began to hop like some sort of maniacal frog, aiming myself towards the outlet so that I could unplug the cord. After about 10 minutes I was successful. Now came the hard part. I had to get to a telephone so that I could phone my neighbour. I launched myself in the direction of my bedroom so that I could get on the bed and reach a telephone. It took some time but I made it. After a brief and somewhat confusing explanation of the turn of events that had befallen, my neighbour came over. He tried for about 15 minutes to unravel the cord. It was twisted on so tightly that he had to go back home, get his ratchet set and return. He took the tire off the beast and only then was he able to undo the coils. Needless to say I was relieved, both at being free to move about and free to relieve my bladder. Those of you with MS will know what I mean.

I have been trying to come up with a moral to this story. Firstly I will always have a phone in my pocket and secondly one can never trust a vacuum cleaner. They can turn on you at any time.

Brian Segal is living in the country north of Montréal. He was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis about 18 years ago and, when asked, tells people he is retired (It sounds a lot better than telling people you are on disability insurance). He is happily married, no children, but one very friendly husky cross. He also has the good fortune of living in his own home, not a home.

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